He was not perhaps so sanguine as he chose to appear, but for the timorous man he declared himself to be, he was very cool. A squalid tavern in the meaner part of the city now housed him; if he could but get a sight of his master he would have only one regret, and this the loss of his brave mustachios.
“Alack!” he told himself mournfully. “I who was, I believe, a personable man, now look like some starveling scrivener.” He spat into the kennel. “So much for that. It boots not to bewail my lost mustachios; they are very decently interred. The loss of a fair beard I can better support: one may call it a fortune of war. But the mustachios are another and more serious affair. Something of the cock of Beauvallet’s own, I apprehend. I wore them with a good grace. A plague on all shaven lips! But this is to talk more and no more. I do not repine.” He walked on towards his lodging. “Now what, I must ask myself? Do you come out of that stronghold, master? Nay, we must admit it to be an impossibility.” He threw out his chest and strutted a little. “Ha! A word we do not know. We maybe have some few wiles left that they may still blear the eyes of these Spanish dawcocks.” He abated his pace and abandoned the swagger. “Yet I own myself to be very pigeon-livered in this matter. You may say I had his word he would escape if he were taken. Maybe we brag a little—a very little.” He shook his head slightly. “Master, if I knew of a way—but I make no doubt a way will present itself to me. I must lie close, as I am bid, and keep good watch. To do else might be to o’erset deep laid schemes. Courage, Joshua!”
The question of Dominica’s departure next occupied his busy mind. He scented mischief there, bristled at it like a dog, and shook his fist at an imaginary Don Diego. “Mark me well, we will carbonado you finely yet, Master Hemp-Seed! Sir Nicholas, you would do well to let your guards taste of your mettle at once, for I mislike the complexion of this whole matter. Let us consider. How long might a coach take to reach Vasconosa? The roads are bad. True, but we have had no rain, and there will be no mud for the coach to founder in. They are to change horses, as I learn, at every stage. Ten days, maybe, swift going. For a man riding hard, as we might ride? Ah, that is another and very different affair.” His pace quickened. “There is the question of horses. We must go privily to work and discover at what stages one can buy nags upon the road. The plague is on it, I have had to abandon Sir Nicholas’ fine mare. Now, if Sir Nicholas were to appear of a sudden, as I believe he may do? What will be his cry? Horses, Joshua! True. And how shall we answer? Certain, it is meet that I lay out some money on a couple of good nags to be in readiness. Ah, what it is to have a head! Master, if I but knew where you lie, and how they use you!”
He would perhaps have been comforted had he known that Sir Nicholas lay in a very fair apartment, and was most courteously used. He might have all he wanted for the mere asking.
Don Cristobal came to visit him each day, and was at pains to be polite. It was from him that Sir Nicholas learned of the messenger sent off to France to inquire more particularly into his identity. When he heard that he gave an irrepressible laugh. Certain, the net was closing in. Don Cristobal understood the laugh to imply no more than a scornful amusement, and did not wonder at it. His attitude throughout was of painstaking civility. The difficulties of his position were felt keenly by him, and he was anxious that—in the event of the Chevalier coming off triumphant—his prisoner would have no cause to complain of his treatment in ward.
He had many talks with the Chevalier, and the more he saw of him the more convinced he became that Perinat had made some ridiculous mistake. Don Cristobal could not conceive that a man who knew himself to be in such danger could wear so carefree a countenance, or could crack lighthearted jests at every turn. Some signs of unease there must surely have been had the man been El Beauvallet indeed. He ventured upon one occasion to hope that all would go well for the Chevalier, and hinted at the Inquisition, watching Beauvallet keenly as he spoke.
He got nothing by that. The black brows flew up in a kind of artless surprise; the smile only grew the more amused. “Sangdieu!” said Beauvallet in mock alarm. “I hope so, too!”
It was very evident that he had no doubts about it. Don Cristobal felt that he had passed another test satisfactorily.
The Chevalier soon requested that he might be allowed some exercise. Don Cristobal had to admit this to be a reasonable desire, and made arrangements to grant it. Beauvallet was permitted the indulgence of walking in the courtyard for an hour each day, closely attended by the two guards who waited on him.
There was more to this request than a mere desire for exercise. Sir Nicholas, hurried to the barracks at night, had as yet had no opportunity to take in his surroundings. To walk in the court would give him a chance to get a plan of the building in his mind, which was necessary to a man whose brain was busy all the time with schemes for escape.
He knew already, from a glance out of his chamber window, that his prison was upon the first floor.
